The CEO's Ex-Wife

We Meet Again

Chapter 5

Jennifer's point of view

The limo glided to a stop next to a Porsche so shiny it looked like it had never seen a raindrop. “We’ve arrived, madam,” the driver announced.

His partner hopped out and opened our door with a stiff, professional flourish. “This car will take you the rest of the way to your hotel,” he said, gesturing to the Porsche. “We hope you enjoy your stay in California.”

I highly doubt I will, I thought. But I gave him the bright, empty smile I’d perfected for business. “Thank you. I’m sure I will.”

Our bags were transferred, and Will and I slid into the back of the sleek new car. As it pulled away from the curb, the real journey began, the one happening inside my head.

We drove through streets I’d spent years trying to forget. A weird feeling settled in my chest. Not much had changed. It was like the city had been frozen in time the day I left, just waiting for me to come back and hit ‘play’ on all my old nightmares.

There was the ridiculously fancy French restaurant where Jason took me on our first ‘real’ date. I’d been so nervous I’d spilled water on the white tablecloth. Just past it was the glittering window of Tiffany’s. He’d bought me diamond earrings there after our six-month anniversary, muttering something about how I “should have nice things.”

A thin, humorless smile touched my lips. I’d sold those earrings in Toronto during my second month, when the rent was due and my cupboards were bare. The money bought groceries for two weeks. Now, I could walk into any Tiffany’s and buy the whole display. Funny how that works.

The car kept moving, turning my life into a cruel, scrolling postcard. There was a big park with a duck pond. We’d spent a whole Saturday there once, talking about nothing, his hand warm around mine. It got so late that his grandfather, the old man himself, had to come pick us up, grumbling about how we’d forgotten the world outside our little bubble.

Grandpa Owen. The thought was a sudden, cold weight. My smile vanished. I still couldn’t believe he was gone. And the person who did it… the thought made me feel sick. She was probably still living in that house, laughing, having won everything.

I shook my head, hard, as if I could physically dislodge the memory. The past is the past. You’re fine. You’re safe. But the old feeling crept into that naive, hopeful girl who truly believed she’d found her happy ending here. What an i***t she was.

The car slowed and then stopped. The engine cut off.

“Mom, are we there?” Will asked, bouncing a little in his seat.

I leaned over to smooth his hair. “Yeah, baby. We’re here.”

He peered past me out the window, and his little face lit up. “Wow! Mom, look! It’s like a castle! Can we explore?”

I followed his gaze and my blood literally ran cold. My heart didn’t just skip a beat; it felt like it seized up entirely.

It wasn’t just any hotel. It was The Owen Grand. One of the flagship properties of Owen Hotels & Resorts. Jason’s crown jewel. I knew every elegant line of its Art Deco facade. I’d helped choose the lobby chandeliers.

A wave of pure, dizzying panic washed over me. This can’t be happening. What kind of twisted joke is this? Of every hotel in this entire state, do they book me here?

My first, frantic instinct was to tell the driver to turn around. To call Kim and tell her to cancel everything. We could say I was sick. We could find another hotel across town.

Stop it, Jennifer. Be rational. A calmer, harder voice took over in my head. He doesn’t live at the hotel. He probably never even sets foot in this one. You’re being paranoid. You need this deal. For Will. For the company. Don’t let a ghost ruin this.

“Mom? Aren’t we getting out?” Will’s voice, small and confused, pulled me back.

“We are, sweetie. We are.”

I took a deep, shaky breath, held it for a three-count, and pushed the car door open. The Californian sun felt accusing. I helped Will down, my grip on his hand probably too tight.

You can do this. You’ve survived worse than a fancy lobby. Just get to the suite. You don’t have to leave until the meeting.

But as we walked toward the grand, rotating doors, a childish, desperate prayer ran on a loop in my mind. Please, just new faces. Only new faces. Don’t let me recognize a single soul.

The lobby was exactly as I remembered, a cavern of marble and soft golden light, smelling of expensive flowers and floor polish. It was busy, but in that hushed, wealthy way where no one raises their voice. I led Will to the vast reception desk.

I bent down to his level. “Listen to me very carefully, Will. You stay right next to me. Do not wander off. Not even to look at that fountain over there. Understood?”

He nodded, his big brown eyes serious. “Okay, Mommy.”

Slightly reassured, I turned to the polished woman behind the counter. “Hello. Reservation for Jennifer Reid. And my son.”

“One moment, please.” Her fingers clicked efficiently on her keyboard. “Ah, yes. Ms. Carter. We have you in our Presidential Suite. Welcome back.”

Welcome back. The phrase was a tiny knife. She didn’t mean it like that; it was just corporate politeness. But it still hurts.

“Here are your key cards. A bellhop will bring your luggage up shortly. Enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the sleek cards. I turned, a hand already reaching for Will’s shoulder. “Alright, bud, let’s go see our..”

My hand closed in the empty air.

He was gone.

A jolt of pure adrenaline shot through me. “Will?”

“Is everything alright, ma’am?” the receptionist asked, her professional smile faltering.

“My son. He was right here. He’s six. Brown hair, a blue jacket…” My voice was rising, panic shredding my careful composure.

“Please, don’t worry. The lobby is secure. We will find him immediately. I’ll alert our staff.”

I didn’t wait. I spun around, my heels clicking too loudly on the marble as I scanned the bustling lobby. The beautiful space suddenly felt like a maze, full of hiding places and strangers. Anger and fear waged a war in my chest, anger that he hadn’t listened, and a terror so profound it turned my bones to water. The world wasn’t kind to little boys who wandered off.

Why didn’t you just stay put?

I hurried toward a quieter corridor lined with meeting rooms, my head swiveling. And then I saw him.

There he was. My beautiful, disobedient boy. Standing perfectly safe, perfectly fine.

He wasn’t alone.

He was looking up, chatting animatedly, to a man who had crouched down to his level. A man in a suit that cost more than my first car. A man with a familiar, sharp jawline and dark hair, now staring at my son with an expression of puzzled, stunned fascination.

Time didn’t slow down. It stopped. The lobby noise faded into a dull, roaring silence. Every prayer, every hope, every bit of strength I’d built over six years crumbled to dust in that single, catastrophic second.

My son was talking to Jason Owen. The man who broke me and the face I had prayed for, with every fiber of my being, never to see again.